


Over Your Head

by Taelr



Series: Ribs [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Idk I just love the whole soulmates thing okay, M/M, Mentions of Allison Argent - Freeform, Mentions of Claudia Stilinski - Freeform, Mentions of Scott McCall - Freeform, Sort of angsty and a little bit of a downer at the beginning but mostly fluff?, Soulmates, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:46:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3535040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taelr/pseuds/Taelr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has a name tattooed across their ribs on the left side of their chest, under their heart; their soulmate. Stiles has had the word "Derek" tattooed there since he was born, and every Derek he meets he questions and wants to know better. But none of them are the one. Because you’re supposed to be able to tell the moment you meet your soulmate, even without knowing their name. None of them fit. until Stiles meets a random guy on the preserve because he's hell-bent on getting off the bench and playing lacrosse this year, so he's out running. And he definitely needs to thank coach later for being such a hard-ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over Your Head

**Author's Note:**

> Part one of a two-part series. They can be read together or apart and it doesn't matter if you read them in order or out of order or only read one. I know this is short but it's one of those things I didn't feel like expanding into something long and I guess it feels nice as long as it is now. I'm my own beta so any and all mistakes are mine. Feel free to let me know if you see any!

Everyone has a name tattooed across their ribs on the left side of their chest, directly under their heart. That’s just the way they’re born, that’s the way it’s always been, and that’s how it’s always gonna be. There’s never even been a single person documented who was born without one.

The name on Stiles’ ribs is _Derek_. It was the fourth word he learned, after “Mama,” and “Daddy,” and “Awesome.” His mom used to sing him a lullaby at night, about the people who loved him and the person who would. And right before she died, when she was really weak and hardly able to lift her head, she grabbed Stiles’ hand so tightly that it was frightening and she opened her eyes wide and bright for the first time in weeks and she held his gaze and told him, “I’ll always love you, and so will your dad. But so will Derek. Go find him, Stiles.”

And he’s trying. Stiles has gone out of his way to meet new people, has met everyone in his school and memorized all of the names in his yearbooks and class records twice, and has met probably three hundred Dereks by now. But none of them are _the_ Derek. You’re supposed to know right away when you meet your soulmate. Often even before you know their name. It just feels right, and you’re comfortable there with them, like they’re the best friend you’ve known all your life. But none of the Dereks have been right. They always feel a little off, or just a little too normal, so he knows he’s never met the right one. And he keeps looking.

And it gets harder. Because his mom is gone and his dad is always working and Stiles himself is always at school. At least he has Scott most of the time. Or had him, anyways. Scott meets Allison, the girl whose name has been tattooed on Scott’s ribs forever and the girl Scott has been swooning over and imaging and writing poems to and about for literally years, the girl who steals Scott’s heart. She also steals Stiles’ best friend, but he can’t blame her because he understands. Or figures he would understand, in the event that he ever actually found his soulmate. He tells himself that he has plenty of time left in his life, plenty of years left to look and explore and to find; he’s only a junior in highschool, anyways, so it’s not like there’s some big rush. Except there is. Because so many other people are finding their soulmates left and right and so many of them are his age or even younger and they’re all so happy and fulfilled and complete and Stiles has never felt like he isn’t whole or anything, but he still yearns a little.

And then senior year rolls around and Stiles decides that he’s hell-bent on _not_ spending another school year with his ass on the bench and his best friend on the field. He’s getting off that bench if it kills him. And it almost does. Several times. Because apparently Stiles is a lot more out of shape than he thought, and when he starts to go jogging and work out he nearly passes out and almost hyperventilates and a whole lot of other not-so-pretty things. But he does it anyways, and eventually the jogging doesn’t get to him so much and the other workouts don’t seem to be putting his life in danger, and that’s nice. It’s also distracting him some from the whole desperate need to find his soulmate thing, and that’s kind of nice too.

Today he decides to switch things up and drive to the edge of town before he goes for his run, instead of just taking laps around his block or down to the store to get candy. (Yes, he totally knows that candy is counter-productive and doesn’t help his cause at all, but he can’t help it, okay?) So he gets in his Jeep and drives to the place where the city limits end and the preserve begins, and he takes a flying – albeit dangerously flail-y – leap over the chain that blocks the road before he settles into his usual steady pace and just goes. He has ACDC blasting in his ears and it’s probably loud enough that he’ll have hearing problems someday, but he thinks in passing that his soulmate will love him anyways. And that thought puts a sort of hollow throbbing in his chest, so he shoves it away. He feels an absurd lurch of hope somewhere deep in his gut and wonders where the hell that came from for about .3 seconds before moving on and focusing on where he’s putting his feet.

And he runs for probably a couple of miles before he starts to think about turning around. And just when he’s seriously considering it and promising himself that the sort of gnarly-looking tree up ahead is where he’ll stop and rest before heading back, he spots someone else on the path ahead. And they’re heading towards him, clearly jogging. Probably out for the same reason Stiles is. For some reason Stiles feels that lurch again, and he actually gives it enough thought and pause this time that he almost trips over his own feet and goes plowing into the ground. He doesn’t, though, regaining his balance at the last moment and somehow keeping his feet. And the next thing he knows the random jogging someone is right there ahead of him, and they’ve obviously noticed him, too.

It’s a guy, one who’s obviously a little older than Stiles and probably a little bit taller, too. And Stiles feels a twinge of attraction and shoves it back down, afraid. Because he’s seen attractive people before, he has. And he’s felt truly attracted to them. But only in passing, and it always made him feel guilty later when he remembered that he should be waxing poetic about _his person_ , about his _Derek_ , instead. And he feels sort of guilty now, like he shouldn’t be looking for such a long time at the guy’s legs or good posture and shouldn’t be wondering how the guy manages to keep such a good-looking five o’clock shadow.

He’s so busy looking that he almost veers off the path into a tree, but somehow he doesn’t do that. He also almost just runs right on by, but then he notices that the guy is slowing down and moving over so he’s closer, so Stiles starts to slow, too. He also remembers out of nowhere to pause his music because he always feels bad when people try to say something and he can’t hear them and has to ask them to repeat it.

And then they’re standing there in the middle of the path, both of them breathing a little hard and looking at each other like they’re not sure where to go from here. And Stiles has literally no idea what he should say or if he should just turn around and head back to his Jeep now and save himself the embarrassment or what. But he also feels like maybe that’s a good idea, and the absurd notion that he could just walk over and lean against a tree or sit on the ground and admire the nature around him strikes him so suddenly that it makes his head spin.

“Hi,” he tries eventually, far too late for the greeting to be considered normal or timely, and his voice actually cracks and sounds a little strained. He’s going to blame that on the fact that his lungs have been working overtime because he’s been running. Yeah.

And the guy – who is actually really attractive, now that Stiles can see him all up close and personal-like – smiles at him in this sort of unsure but confident way, like he has no idea what he’s doing but he’s damn good at faking it.

“Hi.”

And it’s ridiculous and uncalled for and doesn’t even make sense but that single word sounds so good in Stiles’ ears that all thought of turning around and leaving goes out of his mind completely. Then they sort of just stand there and eye each other for a couple more seconds in silence. Somehow it’s not awkward, but Stiles is too busy staring to really notice or think about it too much. A few stupid and rather questionable lines pop into Stiles’ head, but he doesn’t dare actually open his mouth and let them fall out. So he keeps it tightly shut and nods once instead, feeling like an idiot as soon as he’s done doing it.

“Hi,” he says again, and he sounds a little dazed. Which is totally incorrect because he does _not_ feel at _all_ dazed and – okay, yeah, maybe he’s a little bit dazed? In his defense, he kind of really wants to hear that voice again. Even if it’s repeating the only word he’s heard it say so far.

“Hi.” The guy’s eyes are locked on Stiles’ for a heartbeat or three, but Stiles is too preoccupied trying to figure out what color they even are to keep track of the time.

“You got a name?” The question is sort of bizarre to Stiles’ muddled mind for a few seconds, but then it makes sense. And then it still doesn’t. But at least he has the guy talking now. Because that voice is nice. Like, really, really nice. Stiles definitely feels like plopping down on the grass nearby and picking flowers and making shapes out of the few puffy clouds overhead. He’d think that entire thought process was weird if he had any brainpower left to do so. Which of course, he doesn’t.

Too late, he says, “Yeah. I’m Stiles.”

And then everything sucks. Because the guy, who has been charming as hell and as devastatingly handsome as it’s possible to be and seems to have been on the verge of a smile, looks crestfallen. His entire face crumples and he studies Stiles again, more critically now, like there’s been some mistake.

“Oh.”

Stiles feels his own expression crumpling and falling into a frown, and his shoulders actually slump. Because he feels absolutely horrible and sad that the guy isn’t happy anymore. “Do you?” he asks, too fast now. “Have a name, I mean?”

The guy sort of huffs a soft laugh at that, and some of the light that was in his eyes earlier comes back for just a split second. “Derek.”

And Stiles feels like passing out. Or fumbling with the hem of his shirt until he can get a grip on it and then yank it up to show the name on his skin. Or maybe throwing up. Or possibly even crying. The rush of emotions is a little overwhelming, but he swallows them down because the guy is still looking disappointed and that can’t bode well. I mean, if Stiles was his soulmate then he – _Derek_ , this Derek – would be just as euphoric and pleased as Stiles is, right? Yeah, Stiles definitely feels like crying now. But he swallows that down too, blinking a few more times than is really necessary before squaring his shoulders again. This stranger doesn’t need to see him cry. Because that’s what he is. A stranger. Stiles shouldn’t feel as comfortable and happy as he’s feeling because obviously he isn’t this Derek’s soulmate, so this Derek must not be _his_ soulmate, either.

“Wait, what’s their name?” Stiles blurts, just as he’s opening his mouth to make some kind of excuse or say goodbye. “Your, uh, person.”

And then things get even weirder because the guy – Derek – shakes his head almost shyly and lifts up his shirt for Stiles to see instead of actually saying anything.

Stiles’ heart is caught in his throat for a split second because he’s expecting there to be nothing on Derek’s ribs – why else would he be so weird and shy about it? – but then he sees the name there and his eyes feel like they widen almost fit to bug out of his head.

**_Przemysław_ **

Stiles’ mouth falls open and he stares for a few seconds, leaning forward and back and swaying almost drunkenly and reading the word – the name, _his name_ – four times over before “THAT’S ME! THAT’S MY NAME!” tears its way out of his throat in a shout even though he intended for it to be a whisper.

And the guy, Derek, his Derek, _Stiles’_ Derek, looks like he’s really confused for a second. “What?” he asks. “I thought you said your name was Stiles?”

Stiles takes shorter than he ever has in his entire life to explain that _Stiles_ is his preferred nickname because _he_ can barely pronounce real his name properly, and then he notices that Derek has let his shirt slide back down and cover his chest again. But it doesn’t matter, because the image of Stiles’ name there on Derek’s skin is burned into his mind forever. “Przemysław,” he whispers, a little breathlessly. It’s the first time he’s said it in years, since his mom died and probably even a long time before that.

And Derek looks taken aback but in the best way, and he echoes what Stiles just said in a whisper just as soft and awed. And Stiles _knows_. Like he knew when he saw Derek, and when they stopped to look at each other, and he’ll know for every minute of the rest of his life. Knows that this Derek is _his_ Derek, is _the_ Derek, the one he’s been looking for forever.

He feels almost obligated to tug his shirt up and display the name on his ribs, and gets the satisfaction of watching Derek’s expression soften all over again and his eyes read and his lips mouth the word as he reads his own name there.

Stiles has no idea where to go from here, whether he should step forward and just get it over with and embrace this person he’s been waiting for since he was old enough to understand what the tattoo on his chest meant. Or maybe he should wait until they actually know each other, should let it come slowly instead of just rushing into it – into Derek – the way he wants to right now. But he just stands there instead of doing either of those things, and stares at Derek and eventually lets go of his shirt and keeps staring for a few more seconds.

“What’s your favorite food?” Derek asks abruptly, and it’s enough to snap Stiles out of his thoughts.

“Food,” he answers, just as automatically as he answered that his name was Stiles earlier. “I just like food. All the food.”

Derek laughs and genuinely smiles wide and happy for the first time in front of Stiles ever, and Stiles actually swears he can feel his heart skip a beat or two. “Okay,” Derek says, and even his eyes are smiling at Stiles right now. “How about we go and get some food, then? All the food.”

And Stiles has honest-to-god never felt like swooning before, but he feels like it now. Talk about soulmates being perfect for each other. “That is a thing we could definitely do,” he agrees, nodding immediately and feeling his lips widen until he’s returning Derek’s smile. He half-turns to glance back the way he came and wonders how far he is from the Jeep and how far they are from Derek’s car or whatever he used to get out here. His head snaps around and he looks at Derek as soon as something bumps against the hand he’s not rubbing his neck with, and that something turns out to be Derek’s hand.

“Can I hold your hand?” Derek’s actually blushing, and he looks just as shy and unsure as he did earlier before he showed Stiles his tattoo.

Stiles can’t really help the cooing sound that escapes him because, quite frankly, Derek is adorable. In his own big, sort of dark and broody kind of way. “God, yes,” Stiles says loudly, and doesn’t even wait for Derek to take his hand, just snatches Derek’s slightly larger one out of the air and fumbles with it for a few seconds until he can get their fingers threaded together properly, and when he’s satisfied he gives an experimental squeeze and lets their hands drop into the space between them. Their intertwined hands are really nice to look at, but the rest of Derek is nice, too.

Derek’s smiling at him again, and Stiles feels like his chest is so full of butterflies and pure elation that it’s going to burst open at any moment. Knowing that he put that smile there on Derek’s face, and that this is only the first of many smiles he’s going to put there, is beyond wonderful. This is the person he’s been looking forward to for so long, the person he’s waited for and searched for and longed for and loved and hated and looked forward to and wanted to hide from for so long. Here he is, and he’s beautiful.

Derek takes a step and tugs on Stiles’ hand to get him moving, and then they’re moving in the direction that Stiles had originally been coming from. Maybe Derek is just intending for them to take a nice afternoon stroll before they go for food, or maybe he has some sort of sixth-sense going on as far as the fact that Stiles’ Jeep isn’t too far away. Maybe this is just perfect and Stiles shouldn’t be thinking so hard on every little thing. Maybe he should just be enjoying it.

Derek is a lot of things to Stiles all at once, and will hopefully be a lot of things to Stiles’ dad and to Scott and everyone else Stiles cares about, but he’s also something else. Stiles thinks of his mom for a few seconds and has to smile again; Derek is her last and greatest wish for her son.


End file.
